Editor's Note: All clans, coteries, caste systems, and social standards in this story are the creation of White Wolf, but the characters belong to me. Reviews are always welcome and appreciated.
They were lovely! Simply lovely! They stood there, as perfect and as beautiful as you could like.
Lilyan Demarrie walked amongst the statues in her moonlit garden, gazing upon them with pride and pleasure. She had been admiring them all night, lingering at one and then the other. There was silken-clad Raleigh, the despondent maiden, plying her needlework. Lysander, the warrior, in his armor and grieves with his spear poised. Ami sitting beneath the blooming cherry tree in her perfect kimono.
Lilyan stopped and gazed down on the figure of the Japanese girl. She was one of her favorite works in the garden. She smiled and touched the flawless cheek, chuckling at its warmth.
Yes, these "statues" were all warm and alive. How can one enjoy true art when it is dead, after all? Each and every piece was a beautiful work of art from every corner of the world. And they would remain those beautiful works of art for all eternity, if she had anything to say about it. But to embrace them would render them cold. No, she would let them live. The Toreador smiled to herself. She loved her statue garden and they loved her...deeply, desperately, wholly. They would stand frozen for all time for her if she requested it of them.
Yes, she was glad she would be able to show them off. They were worth enjoying and surely those with any mind towards culture would be able to love and appreciate her garden as she did. Yes, she was glad. They would be at their best and most beautiful for their admirers, she knew.
"Be well, my beauties. My loves. My masterpieces. Enjoy the day." With that, she swept from the garden as the stars began to wink out.
It was not until the sun spread red over the line of the horizon that they moved. Lysander lowered his spear and rubbed his shoulder, Raleigh hooking her needle in her embroidery hoop. Little Ami gave a long stretch and a pathetic little yawn as she allowed herself to slouch on the bench and brushed cherry blossoms from her lap and hair.
"Come, little one. Bedtime for you." Tall Lysander scooped up the tiny teenager in his arms and carried her towards the great house. He was the eldest of them and had been with the mistress the longest. Thus, he rather saw it as his duty to look after the others and make sure that all went well with them.
Ami twirled a strand of his long, golden hair around her finger as she dozed in his arms, his gait almost a lulling rock to her. Raleigh hooked the train of her gown over her arm as they moved up the steps that led from the garden to the piazza and into the house.
Slowly, the garden emptied and the sun found only empty pedestals and pillars dotting the extensive grounds of the Demarrie manor. All was silent without.
Within the manor, the living statues showered, fed themselves, and rested for the day, finding their sweet draught had been laid away for them in readiness. In their rooms on the basement floors of the great house, some slept, some read, others played or painted, watched movies, or played computer and video games. To each their own. Two hours before sunset, Lysander rang the bell and all commenced making ready for the night. Their mistress was to host the evening gathering for the city and they must do her justice. Tunics, gowns, and robes were pressed and laid out, weapons, accessories, all of the like cleaned, shined, sharpened until they gleamed as all prepared to spend another night in stillness and silence as her living garden.